by Jim Butcher
“Oh, Harry,” Michael said. “You’re asking exactly the wrong question, my friend.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
He looked at me, his face serious, even worried. “What is she going to do with you if she can’t?”
A fluttery fear went through my belly at the thought. Silence fell. The night was dark and quiet and misty. Somewhere, out there in it, Mab was moving, planning. Part of her plans, the dark, bloody, violent parts, included me.
Maggie was warm and soft beside my heart. Mouse stirred for a moment, and shifted until his big shaggy head was lying on my foot before going back to sleep. Behind me, the Carpenter household was settling into the quiet, stable energy of a home going through a familiar pattern. Bedtime.
Sometimes you realize you’re standing at a crossroads. That there are two paths stretching out ahead of you, and you have to pick one of them.
Without a word, I took Amoracchius and settled it where I could reach it easily when it was time to stand up.